


It's On

by im_ashamed



Category: RWBY
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, F/F, Fluff, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-08-07 05:54:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7703119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/im_ashamed/pseuds/im_ashamed





	It's On

“This is dumb.” Yang mutters as she clips on her gauntlets. 

“It makes perfect sense.” Wiess says in that nasty little tone of hers, all prim and ‘of course, you idiot’. “Whatever your fighting style, it limits you. Sparring with a variety of partners is the best way to pinpoint your weaknesses and figure out how to minimize them.”

Yang glares at her. She was supposed to hear that, but not respond to it.

 Her bad mood burrows deeper in. Now that the initial bustle of orientation is over everyone has tired of introductions and decidedly split into their own groups. It’s fucking boring, and she’s restless stuck on a floating school all week. She’s trying to keep herself from wrecking things just for the uproar it would cause, but goddamn if the way Wiess is talking doesn’t make her want to put her elbows on the table, smear ketchup across her food and then hurl it against the wall. 

She takes a deep breath and slaps her bullets into place.  _Channel it._  

Weiss clicks through the revolving chambers of her sword, checking if she has enough dust in each. She then weighs it in her hand to make sure the balance is right.

 “You will take this seriously, right?” She says to Yang. “I know Myrtenaster is a more classical weapon, but you might find that precision can be more useful than the ability to punch through walls.”

Technically you aren’t supposed to punch your opponent into the ring, but Wiess takes it well, focusing more on staying upright than stopping herself.  

 _She’s light on her feet._  Yang notes. She’s seen Weiss using her glyphs to bounce around, but this is a little different. Especially since she’s already decided she needs to shut that down as soon as possible. 

Yang is in the ring before Wiess has stopped moving, but she doesn’t attack right away. Weiss must be on high alert now, having realized that Yang isn’t here to break a friendly sweat. 

There’s a pause as they size each other up and start circling, but they haven’t gone around once before Yang is firing at Wiess. She’s thrown, and though she dodges them, the first bullet shoots by her shoulder so close she can feel it’s heat in a scorching line. 

Weiss jumps to a sigil and spring boards off of it. No fancy stuff. A head on attack. If she thought that might surprise Yang her heart must almost stop as Yang stares her down. Yang refuses to lose ground, and instead throws out a fist and fires at Weiss again. Weiss manages to twirl off course, but she’s too low when she turns to land on her feet and hits the ground hip first. Her aura dampens the blow (as do the copious layers of her battle skirt), but still it aches.  

Weiss flips herself over just in time to see Yang’s foot hit the ground an inch from her face. She jumps to her feet and clicks the button on Myrtenaster’s hilt once. 

Yang growls at her and leaps straight for her sword. She expects Weiss to pull back in shock, but instead she finds her arm incased in ice to the elbow.

“Fuck you!” She screams, and swings her arm wide, aiming for Myrtenaster yet again.

This does send Weiss back, but Yang continues to advance. Weiss attempts a downward swing, but Yang throws her up her ice covered arm to block it. Of course Weiss’ ‘precision’ weapon goes through Yang’s makeshift shield like butter, but Yang has just the right opening to shoot, and Weiss takes the hit.

“Stop!” Weiss screams.

Yang freezes, her fingers pressed to Ember Celica’s trigger. She catches Weiss’ eyes, and they stand still for a moment, breathing hard. Myrtenaster is still lodged in the ice on Yang’s arm and Weiss gently extracts it.

“Here.” She says, and Yang waits as she clicks through the dust on her hilt.

“Why only one button?” She asks, and her words sound not so much loud as out of place, as though they are coming from a radio in another room. 

“Feeling for the right button would take longer than just going around.” A flame appears at the tip of the sword and Weiss holds it over the gash she made in the ice.

Yang could have just broken the ice off, but she can’t say that. Weiss is watching the fire intently, likely to keep it from burning Yang’s skin. Although her aura is still up the action causes guilt to slosh inside of Yang’s gut. She hadn’t been very worried about Weiss’ safety while they were fighting, even though it was her responsibility to make sure things didn’t go too far. 

Yang let’s Weiss melt the ice until what’s left snaps and it drops to the ground. Weiss sheaths her sword and Yang rubs the cold spot on her arm.

“Are you alright?” Weiss asks.

Yang continues to stare at her arm. “Tired.”

Weiss shifts the weight on her hips. “Of?”

She doesn’t quite have words for it. Back home she would wander whenever and wherever she pleased, and once she had her motorcycle she could head for the city if she wanted. The city wasn’t as fun to walk as the forest near home, but there were thousands of people there, strangers almost all of them. Beacon was big for a school, but surrounded by concrete and the same people every day Yang felt compressed. Squeezed tight, like she was in a pneumatic tube.

“…Fudge?”

Yang’s head snaps up. “What?”

“Would you like some?”

“You have fudge?”

Weiss rolls her eyes and huffs. “If you must know I think it is the best sweet there is, and I usually keep some in my room for days like these.”

Yang feels a smile cross her face. “Dark? Milk? White?” She asks .

“It’s a variety pack from Claire’s Waterfall.” Weiss glances away as though embarrassed, but then smiled back, “I’m already out of peanut butter, but you can have any other kind.”

Sometimes in the forest Yang would feel a soft patch of earth beneath her foot and stop herself before she put too much weight on it. If she kicked the leaves away it might be a puddle or a hole. There was that feeling now, of coming up against something that she knew would give if she pushed it. There was uncharted territory beyond, a new world to explore.

“Thanks. I’d like that.”

 

 


End file.
